Blame It On Me
by Norwegian Blue
Summary: All of the fears seemed pretty straightforward. Most people were afraid of those fears. So what if one of the fears had a different story? Rating to be on the safe side. There is some gore, otherwise ok.


            If he was truthful with himself, Dean wasn't really looking forward to the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. Like all the other third years, Dean hadn't ever had what you could call a normal Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Well, actually, Dean had never had what he could call a normal teacher in his past two years. Normal would have been a teacher springing pop quizzes on algebra. Somehow Dean didn't think that was going to happen any time soon. That was fine with him. His older brother Dale had groused continually about algebra and Dean wasn't really good at math any way. He liked drawing and sketching more. When he had gotten his Hogwarts letter, he had been planning on attending on a secondary school with an art program. But back to his defense teachers. 

            His first year Defense teacher seemed ok. A little nervous, maybe, but there were rumors of him having a run in with vampires. Dean had never met a vampire but if the real ones were anything like the ones in cinema, he could understand being a little off in the head after meeting one. For the most part, he seemed to know what he was talking about and Dean actually remembered a few of the things he taught. But then, it was hey, guess what, they guy wasn't off in the head because he got in a bad way with some vampires but because You-Know-Who lived in the back of his head. Dean really didn't know a lot about You-Know- Who because most people seemed afraid to talk about him. But most people seemed to get scared if you said his name and the few stories that Dean had heard were scary enough that Dean thought it was probably better to refer to him as such. Anyway, the first year teacher ended up trying to bring You-Know-Who back to life, which, most people seemed to agree, wasn't really a good idea. For some reason, Harry, Ron, and Hermione figured out what was going on and stopped him, although the teacher and You-Know-Who tried to kill Harry in the process. Harry was a nice guy, but for some reason people kept trying to kill him. 

            In his second year, the Defense teacher was this guy who wrote a lot of books and then assigned them all to his class. The only thing Dean got out of the class was that the teacher was rather big-headed and to never ever let pixies out of a cage unless you know- _are absolutely positive_- that you can get them back in. That teacher didn't really try to kill anyone. However, when someone else (no one was ever actually clear on who) had tried to kill Ginny, Ron's little sister, he hadn't actually helped things and really didn't seem that interested in saving her. Harry and Ron saved her, although who ever tried to kill Ginny tried, off course, to kill Harry.

            So in his third year, Dean wasn't really that optimistic about the potential of their new Defense teacher. If he had to chose, he'd say that this one would probably turn out like the first year teacher. He had the pale look about him, like he was ill or worried about something.  But Neville, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had told them all about how he had stopped the Dementor on the train. Dean's gut clenched at the memory of the Dementor. On the train, thankfully, it had not come into his compartment, but just seeing it out in the hallway was enough to make him feel sick. It did enter the compartment across from them and when it left, Dean saw a couple of girls crying. Anyone who could stop something like that deserved a chance in Dean's opinion. 

            So Dean's most noticeable emotion when he was entering the Defense classroom was curiosity. He had already had two new teachers this week. One was Hagrid with Magical Creatures. That was an interesting class, possibly the most exciting class since the first flying lesson. Malfoy getting attacked was definitely an up point. Dean wasn't a violent person by nature but Malfoy had, in Dean's opinion, deserved it. Besides, Malfoy usually went out of his way to be rude to Dean because he was Muggle-born. Dean usually shrugged it off, it wasn't like he could have done anything about it. But it was still sometimes rather aggravating. The second new teacher, Professor Trelawney, with Divination, was a bit of a joke. She made a couple of predictions, but they were rather vague. Then she made a prediction that made most of the class jump about Harry having a mortal enemy. Sure it was scary but, Dean could have made the same prediction about Harry based on the Harry's recent history.

            When they had gotten to the classroom, the teacher wasn't there. They all sat down, Dean sat next to Seamus, as he usually did. Dean took out a sketching he had begun of the dementor. He didn't really want to, but the first day of school, after classes, he had been feeling restless and had taken out his sketch pad. Drawing usually calmed him down but the only thing he could think of was the dementor. He couldn't think of anything else to draw. Seamus gave him an odd look when he saw the sketch on Dean's desk, but Seamus usually didn't ask too many questions. 

            "So, what'dya think?" Seamus said, jutting his chin toward the vacant desk at the front of the class room.

            Dean shrugged. He really didn't want to think anything yet. He had given up on guessing.

            "I mean, you really can't tell, can you?" Seamus went on. 

            Dean shook his head. "Remember at the feast?"

            "Yeah," Seamus said. "Looked like a made up curse from my little sis could knock 'im over."

            "Professor Flitwick's pretty little, though, and look what he can do," Dean said. "Wouldn't want to cross him, m'self."

            "Yeah, but I'm thinking that it would be pretty hard to cross Flitwick," Dean grinned. He couldn't imagine Professor Flitwick being angry with anyone. 

            "Maybe he looks ill because people keep trying to curse him." Dean suggested.

            "Like he's a special kind of Auror, you mean?" Seamus asked.

            Dean shook his head. "I don't know. I'm just saying that he deserves a chance. 'Member what Harry and Ron and them said about him beating the Dementor on the train?"

            Seamus shrugged and Dean took his quill, book, and parchment out. He stared at the drawing of the dementor on his desk. It looked ridiculous like that, half finished. Almost something you could laugh at. He would finish it later. Probably. Or maybe by then he could think of something else to draw. He stuck the dementor back in his bag.

             A few moments later, the teacher entered the room. Dean remembered from the feast that Professor Dumbledore said that his name was Professor Lupin. Lupin looked a bit better then he had when Dean had first seen him. Maybe all the guy had needed was to kip off for a bit. 

            The teacher cleared his throat and smiled at them. "Good afternoon. Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands." 

            Dean gave a sideways look at Seamus, who was clearly thinking along the same line. Dean looked around the class room for something that could be used to hold pixies. 

            Professor Lupin gave a cursory look around the room to ensure that everyone had put their things away. "Right then, if you'll follow me."

            "Ah," Seamus said next to him as they got out of their seats and headed to the front of the class room. "He didn't bring the pixies with him. He probably already let them out somewhere and wants help getting them back in to the cage."

            Dean shook his head bemusedly. They and the rest of the class followed Professor Lupin along the now empty hallway and around a turn. Dean groaned inwardly. He had already had his first run-in of the year with Peeves when they had gotten off the carriages and Peeves started pelting them with dungbombs. Luckily Dean had only been hit once and the smell came off relatively easily. Peeves pretended not to notice the class or Professor Lupin. Instead he seemed to be quite involved with sticking chewing gum into a keyhole while floating upside down. 

            When Professor Lupin was about an arms-length away, Peeves finally looked up. He started dancing in mid-air and Dean expected him to blow a raspberry at Lupin. Instead, he started singing. 

            "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin." Dean was a little surprised. Even though Peeves usually didn't make the teacher's jobs any easier, he usually showed them a little respect and certainly didn't make up songs about them. Dean looked toward Professor Lupin to see how he would react. Dean was shocked to see him still smiling. 

            "I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves. Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms."

            Dean didn't really think that this was a great loss, and neither did, it seemed, Peeves, who did stop singing but then did blow the raspberry at Lupin. 

            The professor sighed, but Dean could have sworn the sigh was covering up a laugh. Lupin took out his wand. "This is a useful little spell," He said, looking at the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely." 

            He pointed his wand at Peeves and said _"Waddiwasi!"_

            The chewing gum shot out of the keyhole like a cannon and went straight down Peeves's nose. Peeves immediately righted himself and flew away, cursing and giving Professor Lupin dirty looks over his shoulder. 

            Dean grinned. He couldn't believe a teacher would teach them something like that. He didn't think that this guy would turn out like the other two. 

            "Cool, sir!" Dean said. It felt a bit odd calling a teacher cool, but there really was no other word for it. Professor Lupin didn't seem to mind. 

            "Thank you, Dean," he said, putting his wand away. He turned to the class, who were all staring at him with the same awestruck expression. "Should we proceed?"

            Professor Lupin continued down the wall and led them down a second corridor. 

            "What'd you think?" Seamus asked, grinning.

            "I don't think the lesson's going to involve pixies," Dean said, smiling.

            They had stopped outside a door. Startled, Dean realized that it was the door to the staff room. 

            "Inside, please," Professor Lupin said, opening the door and standing aside to let them in.

            Dean had never seen the staffroom, but he had heard Fred and George Weasley discuss it glowingly in terms of prankage potential. However, Dean wasn't that impressed. It was merely a long paneled room decorated with chairs that must have come from a dozen different sets. None of these chairs were occupied at the moment except for one. Professor Snape was sitting in an armchair, and he was glaring at the class as it filed in. As Professor Lupin entered the room and turned around to close the door, Snape interrupted him. "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this."

            Dean punched Seamus's arm. If this teacher was going to do something that Snape disproved of, he must be ok.

            Professor Snape pushed himself up out of the chair, his black robes whipping around behind him. As Professor Lupin got ready to address the class, Snape turned around and interrupted again.

            "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom.  I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

            Neville's face went bright red. Dean let a breath of air through his mouth. Snape always picked on Neville, even more than he picked on the other Gryffindors. He seemed to enjoy the fact that Neville was petrified of him and wanted to give him the chance to fear him even more. Now he was trying to make Neville afraid of other teachers. Neville deserved a chance to do well in at least one class.

            Professor Lupin took a half glance at Neville and then turned back to Snape, arching his eyebrows.

            "I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I am sure he will perform it admirably."

            Dean grinned at Neville, who's face had gone even redder. Snape gave Lupin a dirty look, but turned out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

            Professor Lupin started to head back to the end of the room, where there was a rather beat up wardrobe, where the teachers presumably kept their spare robes. "Now, then," Professor Lupin said, reaching wardrobe. The wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, knocking itself against the wall. Dean felt Seamus jump beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw that Seamus wasn't the only one who was startled.

            "Nothing to worry about," Professor Lupin said calmly. "There's a boggart in there."  

            Seamus was staring hard at the shaking door knob and Dean heard Parvati gasp behind him. Neville was terrified, clearly wondering what it was he would be able to perform admirably. Dean had no idea what a boggart was and looking around he saw Harry had a blank look on his face and Lavender was looking puzzled. Every one else looked rather frightened. Professor Lupin, however, ignored these distractions and began the lesson. 

            "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks- I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. _This_ one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.

            "So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what _is a boggart?"_

            To no one's surprise, Hermione Granger put up her hand.

            "It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

            "Couldn't have put it better myself," Professor Lupin said, smiling and Hermione stepped back, looking pleased with herself. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears." Professor Lupin was interrupted by Neville letting out a gasp of terror. Professor Lupin went on. "This means that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it-," Hermione's hand shot up. "-Harry?"

            Hermione continued to bounce up in the air on her feet and waved her hand. Dean wouldn't have liked to answer a question like that and that was always why he never sat next to Hermione in classes. Harry didn't look to happy about it either.

            "Er- because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?" Hermione's hand went down, looking a little put off. 

            "Precisely," Professor Lupin said. "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening." Dean got a brief mental image of a slug that his father had cut open with a lawnmower by accident once. Dean raised his eyebrows. Not frightening, maybe, but certainly gross.

            "The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is _laughter_. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.

            "We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… _riddikulus!" _

            "_Riddikulus__!" The class said together._

            "Good," Professor Lupin said. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And that is where you come in, Neville."

            The wardrobe tattled against the wall. The class turned toward Neville, who was shaking even more, now. Neville took a few numb steps forward.

            "Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

            Neville mouthed something, but nobody got what he was trying to say. 

            "Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," said Professor Lupin cheerfully. This, however, seemed to unnerve Neville all the more and he looked around as if he was asking someone to save him, then whispered "Professor Snape."

            Most of the class, Dean included, laughed. Dean felt a little guilty but saw that Neville was grinning abashedly. Professor Lupin wasn't laughing but looked like he was thinking.

            "Professor Snape… hmmm…Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

            "Er- yes," Neville said nervously. "But I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."

            Now Professor Lupin grinned. "No, no, you misunderstand me. I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

            Neville blinked rapidly a few times, but said, "Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture," Dean grinned, remembering meeting Neville's grandmother at Diagon Alley. "And a long dress," Neville continued. "Green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."

            "And a handbag?" prompted Professor Lupin.

            "A big red one," Neville said.

            "Right then," Professor Lupin said. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"

            "Yes," Neville said, looking as confused as Dean was.

            "When the boggart burst out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin. "And you will raise your wand- thus" Lupin said, holding his wand aloft. "-and cry _'Riddikulus'-concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with big red handbag."_

            The class erupted into a single burst of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled heavily against the wall.

            "If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," said Professor Lupin. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…"

            The class went quiet. Dean thought. What scared him the most? Those dementors were pretty bad, but how on Earth could he make one of _those look funny? He tried to picture one of the dementors wearing a pink tutu or something but another image floated to the front of his mind. The screaming, the blood… the hand. A severed hand, half covered with blood, wiggling its fingers. He wouldn't remember the time when he had saw the hand. If he did, he'd start to shake. The knot in his stomach would return. _

            All right, then, he thought, stubbornly ignoring the memories that threatened to rush back, that severed hand was his greatest fear. How was he going to make it funny? He tried to remember what he had done when he was younger, when he had those dreams. He had stopped the hand in his mind. Made it freeze. All right then, he thought, taking a deep breath. How was he going to make it stop and look funny at the same time. He opened his eyes and saw that most people had their eyes closed, some were muttering to themselves. Dean saw a mouse hole in the corner. Perfect.

            "Everyone ready?" called Professor Lupin.

            The class made noises of assent.

            Professor Lupin addressed Neville. "Neville, we're going to back away. Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Neville can have a clear shot—,"

            They all backed up against the walls, leaving Neville alone next to the wardrobe. He looked scared and like he was going to be sick, but he had rolled up the sleeves of his robe and was holding his wand out.

            "On the count of three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, who also had his wand out. "One—two—three—_now_!" 

            Sparks shot out the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob of the wardrobe. The door burst open and Professor Snape stepped out, glaring down at Neville. 

            Neville grew even paler and started to back away. He had his wand out still and seemed to be mouthing something again but nothing seemed to be happening. Boggart Snape reached inside his robes and Dean was sure that he was going to bring out a poison or his wand. 

            Finally, words seemed to fill Neville's mouth. _R—r—riddikulus!" _he squeaked.

            A crack shot through the air. Boggart Snape tripped. He was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.

            Dean snorted. He didn't think he had ever seen anything as funny as that in a long time. The rest of the class gave a shout of laughter. The boggart stopped ganging on Neville and looked confused. Dean didn't think that he had ever seen the real Snape look confused. "Parvati! Forward!"

            Parvati walked forward, her eyes firmly set on the Snape. Snape turned away from Neville to face her and there was another huge crack. In place of Snape there was a tall mummy with bloodstained bandages. It blindly faced Parvati and it began to walk to her, dragging its feet, its stiff arms reaching for her. 

            _"Riddikulus!"__ Parvati cried._

            A bandage unraveled at the mummy's feet; it became entangled, fell forward, and the head fell off of its shoulders. Dean felt a little relieved. At least he wasn't the only one stopping the boggart at the same time he was making it amusing. He tried only think of the hand and stopping it and not the reason why he was afraid of it. 

            Seamus was called forward. The mummy was cracked into a banshee— a woman with floor length black hair and a bony green face. She opened her mouth and started screaming. Dean felt the hairs on his arms race and he felt as though he had been shocked. 

            _"Riddikulus!"_ Seamus yelled.

            The screams turned into gasped and the banshee clutched her throat. Dean laughed. A banshee with laryngitis.

            The voiceless banshee was turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle. The rat cracked into a rattlesnake which turned into a bloody eyeball. Dean felt his stomach turn. He hadn't gotten called yet. He wished he could just get it over with.

            "It's confused!" Lupin yelled. "We're getting there! Dean!"

            Dean's stomach flipped, but he hurried forward. Crack, the eyeball turned into a severed hand, the same hand he had seen in his mind and in those dreams years ago. The hand started to creep toward him and Dean felt a moan rise in his throat. He swallowed it and pictured a mousetrap in his head. _"Riddikulus!" he shouted, pointing his wand at it. Just as he hoped, a mousetrap appeared and the hand got caught in it._

            "Excellent!" Lupin called. "Ron, you next!"

            Dean stepped back next to Seamus as Ron took his place. Seamus gave him an odd look, but Dean was saved from explaining by Ron's greatest fear. 

            A giant spider, at least six feet tall and covered with spiky black hair. It was bearing down on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. It looked like Ron was frozen with fear. Dean couldn't blame him. If he was standing in front of that, he'd be peeing his pants right now, and that wasn't even his greatest fear. Miraculously, Ron found his voice and he bellowed _"Riddikulus!"_ However, this really didn't help things much. Ron's way of making spider funny was taking its legs off, which was all well and good. But not having legs caused the spider to roll across the class room. It stopped at Harry's feet who took out his wand, but Professor Lupin came across the room and the boggart turned into a white circle. But before Dean could figure out what it was, Professor Lupin said _"Riddikulus,"_ and the circle turned into a cockroach on the floor. 

            "Forward, Neville, and finish him off," Lupin called. Snape was back, but this time Neville looked determined as he marched forward.

            _"Riddikulus!"_ He shouted, and the Snape was back in his green dress. This lasted for half a second before Neville laughed and the boggart exploded into a cloud of wisps of smoke, and was gone. 

            "Excellent!" Lupin yelled as the class started to cheer. "Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone… Let me see… five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the boggart—ten to Neville because he did it twice… and five each to Hermione and Harry."

            "But I didn't do anything," Harry protested. Dean was tempted to smack his forehead. Don't argue when a teacher wants to give you points. Never mind why.

            "You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of class, Harry," Lupin answered. Ah, that was why. "Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me… to be handed in on Monday. That will be all."

            The class left the staffroom, recanting their boggarts and how they beet them. Seamus seemed pretty relieved that no one was making fun of him because his greatest fear was female. 

            "That rat," Lavender said, shuddering. "I hate rats."

            "That was really good how you got it though," Parvati said, consolingly.

            "Did you see me take that banshee?" Seamus yelled. 

            "And the hand!" Dean added, flexing his wrist around. He still felt rather stupid about his greatest fear, but he was getting caught up in the aftermath.

            Neville overcame his shock at success and kept saying "And Snape in that hat!" There was a collective laugh.

            "And my mummy!" Parvati squealed.

            Lavender frowned. "I wonder why Professor Lupin's afraid of crystal balls?"

            Dean shrugged. He didn't know whether or not the white circle was a crystal ball but that was as good a guess as any. 

            They made their way to the Defense classroom to get their bags. "That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we've ever had, wasn't it?" Ron said exuberantly. There was a general murmur of assent. 

            A few hours later, Dean and Seamus were in the Common Room working on homework. They were working on their Defense homework when Seamus looked up. 

            "So, what was with your boggart?" 

            Dean stiffened. "What're you talking about?"

            "Hey, relax, I wasn't ragging on you or anything," Seamus said. "I was just wondering why you have a thing about bloody hands."

            Dean shrugged, resolutely staring at his parchment. "I dunno, why do you have a thing about banshees?"

            Dean hadn't expected him to answer. But Seamus said "M'family's got one. When I was eight, I was sitting with m'grandda. One flies in through the window and starts wailing, like the one today. Next thing I know, m'grandda's dead on the floor. Hear attack. Now, tell me, what's with the hand?"

            "I don't know, it's just some stupid dreams I had when I was like six." Dean wasn't lying. He had had dreams when he was six about a bloody hand. And when he was five, and when he was seven and most of when he was four. And even now occasionally. He just didn't have to know what triggered the dreams. He wasn't sure why he didn't want Seamus to know, he just knew he didn't really want to talk about it with anyone. 

            They went back to their homework. After about five minutes, Seamus snapped his fingers. "I've got it!"

            Dean looked up at him. "Got what?"

            "Why you got a thing about hands being cut off."

            "All right, what?" Dean arched his eyebrows at him. 

            "All right, you like to draw, right? Like I saw that dementor drawing you've got. M'grandmam has a Pensieve and she puts her thoughts in, like stuff that's bothering her and when she feels better, like its not going to bother her as much, she goes back and looks at them. It's the same thing with you, in't? You draw what's bothering you and then you don't have to think about it for a while. So if you lost your hands you wouldn't be able to draw, so the stuff that bugs you would always be sticking around."

            Dean had no idea what a Pensieve was and Seamus's reasoning wasn't why he was afraid. But he nodded so Seamus would drop the subject and Seamus leaned back, looking satisfied with himself. 

            "Heh, that's pretty deep, Dean," Seamus said. "You've got a weird fear."

            Dean nodded, staring at his parchment. "Come on, Seam, let's get this done. You want to play Gobstones after?"

            Seamus nodded eagerly and he turned back to his homework. 

************************************************************************

            Dean was sitting on a swing in the park. His feet barely touched the ground. He saw his mother sitting on a park bench next to his aunt. His mother worked a lot, so did his dad, so Dean was with his aunt a lot. So was Dale, when he didn't have to go to school. But today Dean's mum didn't have work so she and Dean's aunt went out together to take Dean to the park. Dean's mum and aunt looked a lot alike. Auntie Joyce was a year younger but a lot of people thought they were twins. Dean laughed. He never confused them. 

            Auntie Joyce got up from the bench she and Dean's mother were sharing. Dean saw her saying something to her sister. She was going to get some tea from the shop across the street. She started to cross the street. Dean raced toward her. He wanted some cookies. 

            "Auntie Joyce," He called, his voice echoing across the street. She paused and looked back. He made to run across the street. 

            "No, Dean, sweetie, don't," the echoed hit him like a slap. It always did. She started to run across the street to get to him without looking so she didn't see what was coming. She didn't see what was coming. The lorry slammed into her.

            The driver was crouched on the side walk, sobbing. He hadn't seen her. The street was empty and then she was there and he couldn't stop. The sobbing mixed in with the wailing sirens in the distance. 

            Dean wasn't looking at driver. He was looking at the front of the truck. Just around the edge was a hand. Where the wrist and the rest of the body should be was hidden by the truck. Dean wanted to run over to Auntie Joyce. To get to her hand so she could squeeze his. The only thing stopping him was his mother holding painfully onto his shoulder. Didn't Mum see? Auntie was ok. If he could get to her, she would squeeze his hand and laugh at Mum for being so upset. 

            Dean stared at the hand. It had to move. He looked at it, willing it to move. It had to move. He stared at it, he could see it wriggling in his mind. All the sudden Auntie Joyce's real hand wiggled and he pulled on his mother's hand so she would see it moving. If it was moving, Auntie Joyce was all right. But Mum wouldn't look at Auntie Joyce. Dean stared at the hand. It was still moving. Come on, Auntie Joyce. He wanted her to come over here, for her hand to squeeze his hand. He stared at the hand, wanting it to come closer. The hand got up on its fingers and started to inch closer. Dean gasped and pulled on his mother's hand again. But she wouldn't look. The part of the hand towards the wrist was covered with blood and Dean got scared when he saw that. But it was just blood and blood came from cuts and cuts got better. 

            Dean watched the hand move closer to him, waiting for Auntie to look around the truck and smile at him reassuringly. But there was no end to the blood and the hand continued to come towards him. Then Dean saw that there was no wrist. The hand wasn't attached to Auntie's arm. Dean screamed and turned around and buried his face in his mother's stomach who rubbed his back absently.  He felt the hand coming closer. He didn't want to turn around to see the hand but he had to see if it was coming closer.

            Slowly, Dean turned around. The hand was still coming closer, though it hadn't made that much progress. "Stop!" He cried. 

            The hand abruptly fell over, about a foot and a half away from where it had started. Dean saw the ambulance drivers pick it up and put it next to a bump covered by a sheet. Then they covered the hand with the sheet and Dean saw, for a brief second his aunt's bloody dress.

            Dean sat bolt upright in his bed, breathing heavily. He hadn't had one of those dreams for a while. This was only the second one he had had at school. He fumbled for the drapes surrounding his bed and slid out his bed. He made his way to the pitcher of water next to the window. He poured himself a glass of water. 

            It had been him, he realized with a shock. When he had tried to tell his mother and father about it, his mother started to cry again and his father patted his shoulder reassuringly and told him he probably imagined it, in the shock of the moment. But it had been him. He was, after all, a Muggle born. He had done accidental magic. He had heard a lot of people doing accidental magic when they were scared or angry. But he had never tried to remember a time when something unexplainable had happened around him. He hadn't known how the magical community had known he was a wizard, he hadn't really thought of it since he first picked up his wand in Diagon Alley and sparks flew out of it. But that day when he was four years old was probably the first time he had done magic. 

            He finished his water and poured himself another glass. He took a couple of sips, looking out the window at the dark fields. He looked at his water, considered it and then tossed the water out the window. He put the glass back on the platter and went back to bed. Within minutes he fell asleep. 

Author's note: I don't know where I get these ideas. They're rather depressing if you ask me and if I had a choice I wouldn't write about them. Plus I think I'm fooling around a bit with the cannon. I mean, how can you tell what Dean thinks? But, alas, right after I finished my most recent story, I got this idea and it was bugging me to the point of lunacy. Yeah, I know it's bad, but you try living with an annoying idea for a week. It drives you nuts and I don't have any sanity to spare. Anyway, The Author knows that this is bad, and deserves to be flamed. So flame me. Poor Dean, he doesn't deserve to be involved in such a bad fic. He gets so few fics as it is. 

            None of this belongs to me. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, at whose feet we should all be groveling for not suing our collective ass. Inspiration came from a Stephen King short story called _The Breathing Method_, Freudian psychology (see Seamus's reasoning), and, of course, the Addams Family. Well, not really, but that's all I could think of while I was writing this story. 


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